If All Our Days Are Numbered
by Min Daae
Summary: Pre-series. Peter and Neal Caffrey, stuck in orbit. The first draft of "We Few, We Happy Few" from the other direction.


_Author's Note: This was the first incarnation of "We Few, We Happy Few" and ended up being thoroughly Jossed, but I still like bits of it, so I'm posting it anyway. In utter defiance of my fear of contradicting canon without directly labeling something AU. What?_

* * *

Neal Caffrey at 21 (the first time Peter met him) had the perfect grin for a con-man. It was so open, Peter observed, that surely it couldn't possibly be hiding anything. "Hello," he said, looking faintly surprised as he opened the door to Peter's knock. "Can I help you?"

"Who's there, Neal?" Peter heard from the couch, and caught a glimpse of dark hair and a heart-shaped face. It was the first time he'd ever seen Kate Moreau.

He didn't think much on it, or her, then. "We'd just like to ask you a few questions," Peter said, and held up the badge. If anything, Caffrey's grin widened.

"Yeah? Okay, come in – I should make a folder for you guys or something. Guess you already have one, though. Drink?" He held up a bottle of wine. Peter blinked.

"No. Thanks."

"Good choice. It's cheap." Peter stepped in, surveyed the apartment. Next to Caffrey's clothes, it looked shabby. There was a drawing on the wall. Peter indicated it.

"Your work?"

"Yep."

"Not bad."

Caffrey shrugged modestly. The girl on the couch sat up. "Should I clear out?" She appeared to be asking Caffrey rather than Peter, but he glanced at Peter before saying, "Think so? We're still meeting for dinner, though, right?"

The way they kissed each other almost made Peter uncomfortable. For a couple seconds, it was like there was no one else in the room, maybe in the entire world. Peter glanced away, and waited until she was gone before turning back to Caffrey.

"What do you know about Caillebotte?"

Caffrey's expression was charmingly baffled. "Not one of my personal favorites. Why?"

"Someone has been trying to sell forgeries. To museums. Very good forgeries," he added, appealing to the undoubted ego of his own particular mark. Caffrey seemed unfazed.

"To museums?" His grin started to reappear. "That's a little…well, _brazen, _isn't it?"

"You admire the audacity?" Peter accused. Caffrey grinned more.

"I guess," he said. Paused, and added, "Wouldn't you?"

Neal Caffrey, Peter decided right there, was going to be a royal pain in the ass.

~.~

Within a week, Peter knew everything he had access to about Caffrey (which wasn't much when it came right down to it) and was learning the depths of the patience of the woman he'd married, remarkably patient with his endless rants as he read through file after file of speculation and accusation and alibis, all with that infuriating grin floating behind his eyelids.

"He's a smart kid," he said, after rereading the entire dossier for the fifth time. "Why do _this?_"

"You sound almost disappointed," El remarked.

"Someone should just remind smart kids to be _smart,_" he muttered, and started the file again. He knew the signs of obsession, and still couldn't stop. Something about this case had him interested. Probably, he had to admit, Caffrey himself.

~.~

Neal liked to live well. Dress well, eat well, be seen with the right people. And he was good at it. Peter could be at a party full of people he'd known for years and still spend most of the time vaguely uncomfortable. Caffrey walked into a party full of strangers and within moments had half the people listening and the other half wishing they had the chance to.

That was what made him dangerous.

Peter hovered around the fringes. There'd been a tip that Caffrey was working a con, and that was why he was here – why he'd been to six more parties in the last week than he had in the three months beforehand – but Peter could hardly keep track of the man, let alone identify his mark.

"Drink? I promise this wine's _not _cheap," said a familiar voice from his elbow, and damn if that didn't make him feel like an idiot. Caffrey flashed that grin at him, and after a moment Peter took the glass.

"I remember you," Caffrey went on. "You came to me and Kate's apartment a couple weeks ago, wondering about the forgeries. You're not following me, are you, Agent Burke?" His eyes were bright, but Peter couldn't tell if it was the light or true amusement. He suspected the latter.

"I don't think I can discuss business with you right now, Caffrey," Peter said after a moment.

"Please," said Caffrey, "Call me Neal." His eyes slid down and he seemed to make a face. "I wish you people didn't carry guns. I don't like guns. I'll see you around, Peter." He grinned again, and turned away, going over to a pretty brunette it took him a moment to recognize as the girl from the couch.

(Kate Moreau. He knew her name by now. She had one arrest for petty theft and had never been convicted.)

He went straight over to her, ignoring the overtures of the other women he'd been entertaining the rest of the night. He watched them, the way she touched his arm lightly and he cradled her cheek in one hand, then kissed her. They were two beautiful people who looked utterly in love, and for a moment Peter sincerely hoped that was all they were.

~.~

Caffrey had left New York.

Three months of surveillance and nothing. And this morning Peter had an email in his inbox (personal, not work) that read simply,

_Dear Peter,_

_Heading out of town for the week. Don't panic. Say hello to your wife from us._

_Neal and Kate_

From another criminal, it might have been a threat, or a boast, or a misdirect. Peter suspected that for Neal it was a joke. Somehow that almost made it worse.

"Neal Caffrey says hi," he said to Elle, once he got home, exhausted and annoyed. "So does his girlfriend."

"Do they?" Elizabeth took one look at his face and stood up, guided him to the couch. "All right, you can tell me if you need to. And maybe you need a backrub while you do."

Peter felt like the most fortunate man in the world. At least until an hour later the office called and informed him that Caffrey had been arrested in Geneva on suspicion of fraud but nothing could be proven. They were calling him in to assist via phone. Peter groaned.

"Maybe that girlfriend of his will get this out of him," Elle suggested, and Peter shook his head.

"I don't think there is such a thing as a good influence on Neal Caffrey," he said, "And if there is, I don't think it's her."

~.~

Caffrey came back to the states mysteriously wealthy but with apparently legitimate accounting for all of it. It had to be a forgery, it _had _to be, but no one could prove it. Peter was simultaneously impressed and depressed.

He went and talked to Caffrey again, just to see if there was something else to learn, and discovered that Neal was fond of Baroque classical music – or at least was listening to it when he arrived. This time he offered champagne. "You'll keep me honest, Peter," he said, with that grin, when Peter turned it down. "With you watching me all the time, how can I possibly indulge myself?"

Kate burst into gales of laughter and Peter left in a worse mood than he'd come in.

The next week he received a birthday card in the mail with $500 Monopoly money in it, signed _Neal. _

_~.~  
_

In Chicago, Caffrey was arrested for robbing a bank, and walked on a technicality. And vanished. Simply fell off the map for one week, two, one month, two. And waltzed back on the scene when the name Nick Halden was thrown around over some counterfeit money.

Nick Halden didn't exist. His description matched Caffrey, though. Caffrey, who couldn't be found. Who had vanished into thin air.

On December 23, Peter got a Christmas card. He could have torn out all of his own hair. Especially since the signature perfectly matched his own.

Kate reappeared, and with impeccable sincerity said she had no idea where Caffrey was. Meanwhile, an heiress in upper Manhattan walked into her house to discover that her entire collection of Manet had gone missing. There was an alarm, surveillance, even a guard; and no sign of Caffrey except the vaguest of connections.

Two years into hunting dead ends, they finally made a connection. Forged bonds. A witness. And Caffrey written all over it.

The apartment was empty. While staking it out, a bewildered looking civilian handed them a bottle of champagne and a takeout menu, saying someone had asked them to bring it over.

"Isn't that a little…well, _brazen?_" Peter heard Caffrey say, with that certain grin, and gritted his teeth. Brazen. When they caught up with him… (When, not if. Getting on two years and a month and no Caffrey, just reports, glimpses…)

But they were getting closer. He told Elle so and she said, only somewhat dryly, "Good, does that mean I'm getting my husband back?"

He felt a little guilty. Caffrey owed him for that, too.

~.~

In the end, they caught him because of Kate.

They'd been receiving reports for weeks that Caffrey was out of the country, had slipped out between their fingers and was beyond their reach. Peter thought of the party, way back at the beginning, and the way Caffrey and his girlfriend had looked at each other then. Thought of Kate, alone in an apartment in New York City like she was waiting.

He put surveillance on her, and within a week the watchers caught him walking down the street in broad daylight, arms full of roses, looking tired but happy. (The way, Peter thought afterwards, he might have looked coming home to Elle after solving a case.)

Peter went after him alone, made the arrest one on one. He expected Caffrey to bolt. He didn't.

Cuffed and being walked out to the car, he didn't even stumble. Grinned at the people watching. "Hey Peter," he said, just before he put him in the car. "It's your wife's birthday next week, isn't it? Tell her I said hi."

He glanced back over his shoulder once, eyes traveling up. Peter found Kate standing on the balcony, but he couldn't see her expression.

Caffrey winked.


End file.
